


Love of the Wind

by orphan_account



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: But they fix it, Curses, Forbidden Love, Helping love along, Hope, Multi, Quests, REALLY slow, Slow Build, Team as Family, Time - Freeform, cures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelo d'amor (Cupid) spends years wishing he could grant the love of the age. He can't, because one half of the equation is cursed. She's never cared before, but, well, then she fell in love and was loved right back.</p><p>Jack and the Free Wind are content in their little dance of not-quite love. They've got some friends through the years, but one day they make some new ones. Much stronger ones, who notice Jack wasn't as alone as they thought.</p><p>(tags to be updated as the story goes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introducing Angelo d'Amor

_Saturday, November 1777_  
St. Angelo d'Amor - also known as Cupid - went about his business as usual. It was a Saturday, and as most Saturdays, he was torn between dances and replenishing his stock of arrows from Friday. Usually, he sent the _cherub_ out and about while he stayed home.

The cherub had once looked like winged babes. However, once Angela d'Aime showed up and started dealing with innocent love, platonic love, and childhood sweethearts, his main power base had become teenagers, young adults, and old married couples, and the cherub had evolved into something more closely resembling orbs of light the size of basketballs with massive, feathery white wings capable of enfolding a couple within.

Angelo himself didn't have a fixed appearance - he'd discovered over the years that he and Angela changed to reflect the preferences of their watchers, kind of an echo effect, with a couple of set traits. He always had really good arms and his bow, which WAS NOT golden and tipped with hearts, thank you very much.

Today was different though. He felt, in that way of spirits with a purpose, as clearly as any seasonal spirit felt the storms and weather, that today he was needed.

Today, the love calling out was that of a spirit. And not just any spirit, he realized when he checked the Valentines the Saint gathered, searching through the cards until he found the one that glowed; but a free spirit, the kind that had a hard time forming any ties.

And of course, on top of that she was cursed.


	2. Together, Alone

Jack wandered battlefields and empty storehouses. He danced over red ice and wished it white. He was alone, still and always.

1777, the papers proclaimed. He had woken in 1708, on the ice. 69 years and he didn't have a clue why he was here. All he had was his name - _Jack Frost_ \- and the instinctual knowledge of storms and where and winter and frost and snow. And even that he had messed up occasionally - but he was getting better at calming winter and making things better, now that he had a little more control.

But this winter was harsh. It was _meant_ to be harsh.

So he did what he could - he hugged soldiers close until they were cold enough that they were warm, a last bit of hope in death. He bit at noses and fingers to warn them - bundle up, please, it is cold, too cold for you. He guided the Wind away from the worst places, freezing those better able to handle it, people with tents and blankets and defenses against her biting chill.

When he could.

* * *

Wind watched her friend. For they were friends, she and Jack; they slipped through the world, together alone, free-spirited and chill with the breath of the Sky and Moon.

He laughed, a million shattering icicles caught in her arms. He cried, soft whispers of falling snow that ate the sound of her well-wishes away. He yelled, all the anger of thin ice cracking beneath hailstones at her feet. And still, he laughed.

She had stayed with the frost child for longer than she had ever remained before. She was drawn in and tucked around him like moth to flame, and she did not wish to leave.

When he wept, she whistled and howled and brushed along his lips and skin and swirled around him. When he raged, she screamed past him, in front of him, defending, sure. When he laughed, she danced, tossing flurries of snow and ruffling his hair. When he was lonely, she wrapped around him like the coldest blanket, cocooning him in her, guarding him from the world so he could be safely afraid.

And for the first time since she was Formless, Wind wished she was still Someone not Something.


	3. Chapter 3

Angelo d'Amor had never felt so awful. He could do nothing but watch the wistfulness of the Wind. It challenged his very nature.

Suddenly she was there, all around him, wailing.

"I am sorry." He whispered. "There is little I can do."

She whispers. She knows, but she hopes - oh how she _hopes_.

"There is always hope." He states. "Or I would not even feel it, for true unrequited love lies in the realm of fear."

She returns to the lonely boy, brushing along his lips, his skin, but the wistfulness has disapated.

He is drawn back by it every few years anyway.


End file.
